


Master of Fake

by Duchesse



Category: Howl no Ugoku Shiro | Howl's Moving Castle
Genre: Domestic Bliss, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Romance, idk like novel howl is a brat and it means everything to me when he gets bitched out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 14:31:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17448791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duchesse/pseuds/Duchesse
Summary: Often times, any issues with Howl you took upon yourself to resolve. Spectacular results most of the time, absolute destruction the rest.[Howl Pendragon/Reader].





	Master of Fake

**Author's Note:**

> idk. i like the ghibli film, but novel howl is just such a little bitch that i love him.

For those blessed with devastating beauty, it could be said there existed a flaw of such equal devastation. Unfortunately, you would had been far too gracious to assert that Howl was in the company of a single detrimental quality that stood as tall as castle spires reaching for the heavens. That man had enough to fill the pages of a notebook, and then enough to survive rigorous, scathing editing into a book.

You certainly wouldn’t be among those interested enough to buy that book, considering you lived with that disaster of a human through every cycle of the moon, through every shift in season that brought the bitter air, sweet honeysuckle, crisp leaves, and balmy summer nights. There wasn’t a doubt you wouldn’t partake in purchasing a book of that making, but you knew Howl himself would find immense delight in it.

Although, more appropriately, he would read less than the first paragraph and then take to your heels during chores, blustering endlessly about the injustice and slander. 

“Even so, imaging seeing him a little riled up like that might give me good dreams for once.” Old Sophie exhaled harshly through her nostrils, nose high in the air as she stitched another patch onto Howl’s suit. “Oh, I should just feed this thing to Calcifer. I’m sick of looking at it. Do you know how hard it is to sew with these old bones?”

As though to stir a reaction from everyone in the room, to make good on her threat, she balled the garish heap of purple and blue fabric in her hands, twisting at the slightest in her squeaky rocker towards the fire pit.

Calcifer gasped, ducking below a couple slabs of wood. “Hey, hey, hey! Don’t throw at me! What makes you think I want it?”

“Oh, shut it and burn it to a crisp!” Sophie grumbled.

Being that you were considerably more familiar with Howl than Sophie, though neither of you were unacquainted to his tantrums these days, you hurried round her chair and snagged the suit from her hands. “Easy there, Soph. Why don’t you take a walk around the block? Take a nap? I’ll handle Howl for everyone’s sake.”

“Our hero!” Calcifer flickered wildly in his pit, red and orange springing off of his body. Fragments of coal and splintered wood scattered across the floor, making it a daring venture to cross.

His words were clearly in jest, though you were not oblivious to the way his gaze swam after you along with Sophie’s as you approached the staircase. Often times, when left to Howl yourself, things either improved spectacularly for a time or the house became something akin to a battlefield.

You wouldn’t describe yourself as mean-spirited, rather realistic and functioned as the only source of order in this household. And, maybe just a touch spiteful.

Enough so to switch up Howl’s dyes without notice on different occasions depending on the level of severity in which he pissed you off. That man feared you as much as he claimed to love you.

The floorboards groaned underfoot, no matter how gentle you were with them. They wailed their age as much as Sophie did on the daily, flexing under your soles as you climbed to the landing, softening your movements further to assure you went unnoticed.

Inconspicuous and dated, you still had trouble fathoming Howl would have a door made from nothing less than gold and marble; yet you stood there, carefully twisting a cold brass knob and pushing open an old oak door with practiced calm.

You stuck your head through the gap you made with the door, eyes swaying across the vastness of stuff towards his bed where he slept. There you saw his chest rise and fall with shallow breaths, an arm curled overhead with fingers still loosely holding a book split down the middle, a dark tent over his eyes.

He was totally faking it, that’s what you thought.

There was no way he didn’t hear those elephant cries for stairs, no one could ignore them must less sleep through them.

Still, you waded through his piles of books, his heaps of glittery, sparkling trinkets, and stuff that just made too much noise for your liking. Your path had been obstructed by a pile of suits undoubtedly to be put in Sophie’s service, more oddities to which you could put no name, and bundles of chalk in plastic for his wizard circle things.

Now with the treacherous pathway behind you, a minute agitation gone the moment you stood at his bedside looking down. Sometimes he was cute when he napped, other times you wanted to smother him in his sleep when his snoring would send the fine china rattling on the shelves.

Today you were decidedly merciful, facing away to drape the suit nicely at the end of the bed before taking your first steps towards the door for a slippery escape. As a book struck the floor with a dull thump, you were yanked off your feet by your waist, leaving you winded even once your back struck Howl’s chest.

“I knew you were faking it! Faker!” You swung your arms out as he pulled you onto your back next to him. “You’re not as convincing as you think you are.”

“I wasn’t faking. How am I supposed to sleep when you’re tromping all about my room like a lost elephant?” Howl said breezily, letting an arm hang over your waist. 

You reached towards his face for a lock of blond, twisting it round your finger, admiring the faint sheen as it caught the delicate light from overhead. “I wasn’t ‘tromping all about’ your room. You’re just a brat.”

“I’m not.” He pouted, pulling your hand from his hair to twine your fingers.

“You are.”

And then there for a while, Howl said nothing else yet stared at you as though contemplating a deep truth. There had been a time when you believed you understood his inner workings, all of his nebulous thoughts, and what made him tick. That being said, you vastly overestimated him and any thoughtful silences between you.

“You naughty thing,” he said after a moment, sending a rush of panic plunging to your stomach at the wary twinkle in his eye. The sheets wrinkled, scuffing as Howl moved closer to you until your bodies were nearly flush, tips of your noses just touching. He spoke again, albeit in an almost conspiratory whisper this time, “My door was locked. How did you get inside?”

“It wasn’t locked.” You tried not to look below his nose as you answered. “I walked right in.”

“It was locked. I made sure for this very reason.” He seemed suddenly interested in a strand of gray hair on your shoulder. “Tell me how you did it.”

You felt his breath touch your lips then, far too aware of him plucking the single hair from your shirt before cuffing his arm behind your head. At that point, you both anticipated it, words felt needless and your response came as a shrug.

Your lips waited for his kiss, and when it came with a tease and a smile, the thought of switching around his dyes came to mind.


End file.
